


Roses are Red...

by Silberias



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, sansa and stannis not communicating is my jam, sansa has a baby and freaks out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 12:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6374212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silberias/pseuds/Silberias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...and Baratheons are black of hair. </p><p>Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses are Red...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sarah_Black](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Black/gifts).



> Dedicated to the wonderful Sarah_Black who proofread this and did some preliminary squee-ing. I hope you enjoy reading it!

Stannis paced slowly in his solar, the clarity of the battlefield settling over his shoulders as he listened to his wife scream and sob. This morning was not different from the last four births, and all he could do was hope that she was delivered of their child safely. Shireen sat in the window, diligently working on a piece of lace that she wanted to give her newest sibling. It was to be a hat of some sort, he thought, and done in dark blue silk threads. Sansa had, shortly after becoming his wife, identified that regular needlework--embroidery, darning, mending--were not where Shireen's skills lay. Unlike Sansa his daughter grew bored with such tasks within minutes, but the steady clack of the bobbins made Shireen feel like she was accomplishing something.

It was certainly a soothing sort of undertone and he appreciated that she'd chosen to sit with him as he worried over her stepmother. Sansa had been having a wonderful day yesterday, he reflected, as she excitedly oversaw the last of the plans for his nameday celebration. Her eyes so full of happiness, pretending to be exasperated as the maesters led her away when her waters came down, and he hadn't been able to stop himself from pushing her attendants away and kissing her. It was usual for her to spend so long in the birthing bed, despite her Riverlander height she did not have Riverlander hips to easily push out Baratheon children.

Still, she had given him Stafford, Olyper, and the twins Jeyne, and Davos. All good children, lovely children he could be enticed to admit sometimes. Stafford took after him, though the child's eyes were a much lighter blue than Stannis' own. Oly's eyes were dark and stormy, though the shape of his face was less harsh than his elder brother's. Jeyne was her mother's copy save the color of her hair, while Davos was sure to grow up and look like Robert. Sansa demanded that Stannis endeavor not to treat the child poorly, his grudge lay with his brother not his son--the boy could hardly help his blood, she had teased, though her eyes had been serious.

The clacking of the bobbins helped him now to keep calm. No matter that this was usually as long as his little wife would labor he was anxious at this point, always worrying that she would have too much difficulty. That she would tire, and her exhaustion would kill both her and their child. His thumb had been bitten to bleeding when she'd been with Stafford, but the little woman from Myr that Sansa had hired for Shireen had taught his eldest daughter the basics of lacemaking for the other three. It was soothing to listen to, and though he still recoiled from certain luxuries he found he didn't mind the little things Sansa and Shireen made him. A kerchief here, a lace cuff there.

Mostly Stannis liked to, when he was unable to sleep at night, sit and admire the things they gave him. He still couldn't quite accept heartfelt gifts easily, though the fact that they were given usually touched him far deeper than the actual gifts themselves.

There was a rising crescendo of wailing and Stannis perked up a little, his pacing coming to a stop. Shireen looked up at him, her hands stilling, her eyes sliding towards the doorway that led to Sansa's personal chamber. It was a place where she rarely slept, but kept as her own little sanctuary. Most nights, even when heavily with child, she curled up with Stannis in his bed.

A babe's cry cut through the air and half of the tension bled out of both Stannis and Shireen, and they shared a smile over her new sibling. His new babe. Over the last few years they'd learned to let Sansa be alone with her babe in the first hour or so, she liked to inspect the little toes and fingers, brush kisses over the child's forehead. Claim the child as her own before it belonged to anyone else.

"No! No, no, no,  _ no, NO-- _ " Sansa's voice was hoarse and raw, the maesters and handmaidens making protesting shushing noises and eventually one of them ordered she be given dreamwine, she needed to rest, and her fussing would only serve to upset the new princess.

" _ A princess, _ " Shireen mouthed at him and Stannis twitched what he hoped was a smile at her. Sansa's unease returned his own restlessness, Perhaps the labor had been unduly hard on her, and the maesters did not respect her wishes this time--he would have to speak with Grand Maester Bodrin, he would not have Sansa manhandled when she was so vulnerable, nor have her fear having her child taken from her.

"Your Grace," Grand Maester Bodrin said as he entered the room, "Princess," he added with a kindly inclination of his head, "the Queen has borne a daughter to the House Baratheon. She will grow up bonny and fair, I think, and strong like her mother."

Stannis nodded, a little awkward as he took the swaddled child and looked down on a little face. He could see his nose had made it onto the girl--only Jeyne, of all his children, had been spared that nose--and some of his strong jaw. The rest was all Sansa, down to her beautiful dusting of red hair. The sight of it had a wavering smile twitching on his lips, his heart tight as he fell in love with her. The girl wiggled an arm out of her blankets and Stannis gave her his little finger to hold, her fingers strong and tight around the tip of his own.

"And my wife?" he asked after an eternity, absently glancing up at the Grand Maester. Bodrin's genial smile faltered and he looked away from Stannis' direct gaze. The pause had him standing up straight again, shoulders set and firm never mind he still held his daughter tenderly.

"And my wife, the Queen?" his tone brooked no argument this time, and the new babe whimpered and grunted at the sound. The maester, for his part, seemed to collect himself and stood his ground.

"Her Grace was out of sorts after the child was cleaned and given to her, I recommended a cup of dreamwine to settle her. This girl took a lot out of your wife, she needs to rest." Stannis took a deep breath to collect himself, glancing down at the face of his new child before looking to Shireen. She bobbed a quick curtsy and went to gather up her lace making--she would sit with Sansa until the woman awoke.

"Do we have a wet nurse on hand? I imagine this little one would like her first breakfast," Stannis said, attempting a light tone but it came out strangled. He didn't want his wife, a woman he'd grown to respect immensely and love fiercely, to begin suffering the problems that she'd so far avoided. At his words the maester scuttled off to do his bidding, and he heard Shireen's faint farewell as she locked herself away with Sansa. Stannis turned his attention to his new daughter then, moving to sit in the same sun-drenched window that his eldest had occupied.

Three boys, two girls--just as her mother had given Lord Stark--and all of them hale from the out. If he believed in such things he might have thanked the gods for his luck in wedding her. If such a thing was possible for such a man as he, Stannis realized he was happy. Sansa had made him incredibly happy, and well--she might not return his feelings entirely but she certainly seemed to adore their children. And that was enough for now.

That afternoon a raven arrived from Dragonstone--a few pirate vessels sailing northwards toward the Vale, the castellan requested permission to pursue and subdue them--and Stannis was heavily distracted by dealing with the Small Council. His advisors congratulated him and he was in a well enough mood to receive their words with a half-smile. A new princess, he'd announced, as lovely as her mother and a trueborn daughter of House Baratheon.

Shireen gave a report that Sansa was still sleeping, though she'd woken up briefly and fed her daughter--though her confusion and fear seemed to return and the maesters took the infant to sleep with its wet-nurse until the Queen was better recovered. Stannis accepted this and ate alone, not wishing for Sansa to think him looming over her as she had when they were first wed.

It was the day afterwards that brought with it worries and tribulations.

First came her handmaidens, reporting that Sansa would not eat and was dispirited, and that she wouldn't speak to anyone. All these Stannis was familiar with, from the beginning of their acquaintance and later marriage, for there were days when her memories overwhelmed her and she withdrew so as to deal with them alone. What changed his mind about letting her work through it for a short time in her own way was when the wet-nurse informed one of the Kingsguard that Sansa was not feeding their daughter. That she would not touch her. Stannis felt his own mood plunge when he was informed of this just before the midday meal and he barked questions to all the maesters and servants he encountered as he strode through the halls towards Sansa's bedchamber.

He took a moment to listen to the frantic answers before entering his own chambers, grinding his teeth until he was in at least a semblance of calm. The wet-nurse handed him her infant charge, leaving him alone in the solar to further collect his thoughts. For some unknown reason his wife was deeply unsettled and he would not find out why by yelling at her, for Sansa retreated even deeper into herself when she was shouted at. In one arm he cradled their new daughter, the child sound asleep in his care.

"Sansa?" he called, his voice as soft as he could make it, as gentle, "my love, may I come in?"

"If that pleases you, Your Grace," she responded, her voice barely audible through the wood. What an odd greeting--it was within her rights to call him by his name, and Sansa normally exercised her rights over him enthusiastically. Stannis took a deep breath and entered, shutting the door behind him quietly but not locking it. Sansa would not like to feel trapped, no matter what was going on with her. Seeing his young wife brought Stannis up short, though, alarmed at her appearance.

Sansa was pale and sick looking, her eyes red with bags below them that looked like bruises on her usually fair skin, and her hair was still in clumps and tangles. When she looked up at him it sent a cold shiver down to his heart, a heart that broke when her gaze slipped down to the little girl tucked in the crook of his arm--and her blue eyes saddened before she lolled her head away from them.

"Sansa, our daughter needs you," he settled on saying, finding no gentler way of beginning this conversation. His wife's hand, laying at her side above the covers, twitched but she gave no other sign of having heard him.

"Sansa?"

"I didn't think she would still be alive," Sansa mumbled, looking at the infant out of the corner of her eye. Stannis felt his mouth drop open--had the maesters not given the child into her care at all? Or given her updates on the girl's well being? Quickly, to ensure the situation was rectified, Stannis stood up and made to give their daughter to her, to let her feel how soft the girl's skin was, to see the reddish wisps of hair that stuck up from the child's head, to know the babe yet lived.

"No--no, please," Sansa whimpered, trying to scoot away from him, her eyes wide and frightened. Stannis clenched his jaw and took her arm to keep her near, doing his best to ignore the terrified sounds she was making, and settled their daughter on her chest--letting her go when he was sure she had a steady hold on the babe. Sansa's cheeks were wet with tears now, but she seemed to drink in her daughter's face as she cried.

He felt quite drained by his confusion, settling back into the chair that was next to the bed.

"This was kind of you. Thank you," Sansa said finally, though she didn't look up at him at all. Stannis cocked his head, considering her statement and what it might mean. Pregnant women, and new mothers, acted strangely sometimes so he knew this all might be gone in a few days--and his wife would be back to normal. All that set aside, though, Sansa was legitimately terrified as far as he could tell.

"For what?"

His queen was very quiet for a long few moments, one trembling fingertip tracing their child's face.

"For letting me have time with her be-be-before," watching her try to speak left Stannis feeling unnerved, for his little wife had always had words at the ready, she wielded them with the same ease as a knight would a sword. It worried him now that she did not seem to be able to string together a full sentence. Who had frightened her so badly? Surely she did not think he blamed her for the birth of a daughter rather than a son?

"Before?"

"Before," Sansa took in a deep and shuddering breath, "before you have me arrested."

If he had been standing he would have stumbled in shock--as it was he still found himself growling out a harsh ” _ What?!” _ that had Sansa cringing away from him again. The babe started to cry, her little fists swinging wildly as she did.

"She has red hair, Your Grace, and you will believe that above any words I have to say in my defense," Sansa said as though that explained everything. Her statement still had him reeling and it took him a good few moments to compose himself. To ask her how she thought of such a thing, how she came to that conclusion. Sansa started speaking again, though, before he could do so himself.

"I would prefer she be sent to train as a normal septa, not a silent sister. And," his wife's blue eyes pinned him in place suddenly, "that you swing the sword." His stomach dropped and he was sure his face had gone slack from shock.

Silence and their daughter's squalling were the only sounds in the room for a long time. Stannis knew that there was something hard in Sansa, it was why she was such an ideal queen for him--she knew what it was like to have the court nip at her like so many jackals, she could also see through courtly intrigues to their dark centers. But this was--did she really think--? He was so shaken he had no room to choose his words carefully, if he even tried he would stay tongue-tied the rest of the day.

"You speak as though you are already found guilty," he finally ground out, "why?"

Sansa wouldn't look at him, turning her attention to trying to quiet the babe, and he repeated the question, anger seeping into his tone now. She seemed to wilt in front of him and it broke his heart to see it, even through his anger. The anger burned away the doubts her words inspired, reminded him of the scheming of women like Cersei Lannister and Lysa Arryn. They fought like hellcats once their plots were discovered, or fled. Sansa had done neither.

"Cersei Lannister's children were golden ," Sansa said, her voice despondent, "It was you and Jon Arryn who realized trueborn Baratheons had dark hair, as you and your brothers did. You are king for your black hair. And," Sansa's voice hitched, "she has red hair." She smoothed trembling fingers over her daughter's head, lifting the girl so she could kiss her forehead and cheeks. "She has red hair," she repeated, softer now.

Oh.

_ Oh. _

"Sansa, Sansa, look at me,  _ look at me _ ," just as fast as it came on him his anger was gone, replaced with a bit of embarrassment. His wife sniffled but eventually met his eyes, her lower lip trembling as she took in a shaking breath. He stood up from his chair, careful not to scowl when she flinched away from him, and resettled himself on the bed next to her. Stannis twitched a smile, self-deprecating and fleeting, at her, taking her hand between his own and squeezing it gently.

"There are no blondes, no golden little Lannister lions or silvery Targaryens or yellow haired Hightowers. But there are Baratheon redheads, though they are rare for few of the family have married redheads. Believe me, my love, I was thorough in my research before going to Jon Arryn with my suspicions."

She stared up at him, suspicious now but less despondent. Their little girl still cried, but it was more of an angry snuffling whine than wailing.

"Do you not see my nose marring her beautiful little face? The jaw that will plow a field one day?" Had she even looked at the child properly? Or had she been too afraid he would jump to some conclusion about her to even look on her daughter without worrying for the girl's future?

"Only her--"

"Red hair," they finished together. His heart ached for her, that she had lost a day and a night with her child, fearing he was going to kill her on some mad impulse. It showed her previous experience with kings, though, and Stannis promised himself he would do better. That he would be better--and his son after him as well. Smiles felt less strange on his lips after years of being married to Sansa but this one was one he felt every muscle of. It wasn't usually in him to tease but--

"Though in a few months, if you are willing, there is a-- _ sword _ \--I could wield for you." It took a heartbeat but Sansa choked out a laugh, her cheeks still wet but now a bit of life had crept back into her eyes. Stannis let a grin lift his cheeks for a moment before he leaned in and kissed her, cracked lips, quickly drying tears and all, careful to keep from crushing their daughter as he slid his arms around her in an embrace.

Words had consequences, and they none of them lived in a vacuum without history. Stannis knew, looking into her eyes when they parted, that her fears were only thinly allayed--her nightmares might return for a time, or she might hesitate when before the court, and it was his responsibility to bear. He would let her lean on him, though, if she wished it.

Stannis kissed her again, one hand dropping down to gently cup the top of their daughter's head. Her little red head, he thought as he smiled into the kiss.

"The maesters will be sent away, I think they moved to drug you asleep far too quickly. They chain new maesters all the time, and I would prefer ones that consult with us before striking out on their own."

"Mm, I agree, but if any of them have red hair they go straight back," she replied, pressing soft kisses to his lips between each word. Sansa's appearance was still haggard and raw but a proper sleep--no dreamwine, no nightmares of a husband coming to kill her--would do her right. Whatever sleep she missed would be on account of feeding their little girl. Speaking of their girl--

"What shall we name her?"

"Isn't it your turn?"

"She was to have your look but my ugly nose interfered, I think I've had my turn with this one. Perhaps Catelyn?" Sansa shook her head in a negative, pecking a kiss to his lips to make up for it.

"Cassana, maybe?" Stannis couldn't help grinning then, shifting around to lay next to her on the bed, bumping his nose against hers. He too shook his head--no to Cassana too.

"Arya, then--for she had the Stark look, yes?"

"Out of all of us. They said she looked like Lady Lyanna come again."

"Well," Stannis said, resting his head on his wife's shoulder, looking at the babe she held in her arms--so much more confident for his assurances that he knew the girl to be trueborn, "this Arya will be as much a mix of her parents as her eldest sister, it shall be obvious she is none but herself. Does it please you?"

Sansa was quiet for a long time but finally she moved--jostling him and their child as she did so--and put her arm around his shoulder, fingers splaying on his bicep.

"Yes. Yes it does," she said, her voice soft, "will you carry me back to our room? I'll sleep better tonight next to you." Stannis hummed an agreement, shifting away from her so he could stand and do as she asked. Little Arya grunted a little, still upset, when he picked them up but she didn't fidget too much. Sansa was relaxed as he carried her the dozen or so paces across her chamber and through the solar to his own, her head resting trustingly on his shoulder. Once she was settled on his--their--bed he stepped out for a few moments to tell the Kingsguard he was not to be disturbed until the following morning. Upon returning to his chamber Stannis quickly stripped down to just his tunic and breeches, getting in to bed with Sansa and holding her as she gave her breast to their daughter.  


"I will not part with her," he said, pressing soft kisses to Sansa's shoulder, "unless someone loves her as much as I have grown to love you. I promise you that."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it, and please let me know what you thought!!


End file.
